


Dotty Sticks To Her Knitting

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen, Knitting, Yarn or Wool?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Five times Dot stuck to her knitting, and one time she put it down.





	Dotty Sticks To Her Knitting

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to 221 Aubrina and QuiltingMom for reading, feedback and encouragement!
> 
> All of the garments except Nell's scarf and the final baby cardigan appear in the show.
> 
> The booties are in "Cocaine Blues."  
> "Marked for Murder" has Hugh's Abbotsford scarf, with the lovely embroidered heart, and Dot's half light-blue, half navy scarf for West Melbourne, both during the footie match at the end.  
> The pink hat is in an early scene in "Murder under the Misteltoe."  
> Paddy's father's golden-brown cardigan and Paddy's properly-fitting pullover are both in "Blood and Money."

**Dot’s West Melbourne scarf, half light blue, half navy blue  (appears in “Marked for Murder”)**

 

When Dot got home from school, her sister was sitting, stocking-foot and cross-legged on Dot’s bed. Her knitting needles were ticking rapidly, adding stitches to the dark blue part of her scarf.

“Nell!  I thought you were still at work?”  Dot set down her books on the dresser that they shared, in their tiny upstairs room.

“I quit.”  Her sister jerked some more wool out of the ball.  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t tell Mum, but I have a new job.  I start tonight. I’ll have enough money to move in with my friend.”

“What will you do?”  Dot sat next to her, and watched Nell’s nervous energy flow from her hands into the knitting.

“Hostess at the Imperial club.”  Nell put down the needles, fluffed her blonde hair, and smiled.  “I need you to finish the light blue part of your scarf, so I can take the rest of the wool with me.”

“We were supposed to finish them at the same time!” Dot protested.   “That’s why we only bought one ball in each color.”

“I know, but Mum will disown me when she finds out.  I won’t be able to see you to swap the yarn back. I’m almost done with the dark blue.”

Dot took her knitting bag off the hook.  The West Melbourne light blue half of her scarf need only  another inch and a half of the pattern, and she would be ready to cut off the one color, and add the navy blue for the rest.  “That will take me all night, Nell.”

“I’m sorry, Dot.  You know we can’t stay just girls together forever.”  Nell grabbed her hand. “You will be done with school in a few months, and you will have to help out.  You’re a good girl, you can get a position in service somewhere.”

“But…”

“You are smart, Dot.  You are the one who figured out how we could afford to make the West scarves for ourselves, when that silly sales girl was laughing at us for counting our pennies.”

“It doesn’t take that much smarts to figure out that a ball of navy wool and a ball of light blue will make two scarves that say ‘one skein’ on the pattern,”  protested Dot.

“I didn’t think of it.  And now we will be the hit of the next West Melbourne match!”  Nell smiled.

“I don’t have any references,” sniffed Dot.

“Father O'Malley will write you the most amazing character reference ever! Don't worry.”  Nell’s arm was tight around her shoulders. “You will get a great place, in a fancy house, and wear a lace apron every day when you take the master his breakfast toast!”

 

**Booties for Alice’s baby. (from “Cocaine Blues”)**

Housekeeper was going to yell if she was late with Mr. Andrew’s tray, so Dot sprinted for the kitchen.  

She stuffed the brown paper packet into her dress pocket and smoothed her apron as she raced down the stairs into the kitchen.  The door to the pantry was on the right, and she started preparing the tray. The small rectangular silver tray, followed by the linen placemat with the white on white ivy design and the matching napkin... check to make sure the silver is polished…

“The missus is mad.”  The cook’s muffled voice came through the open door.

The housekeeper said something, a question too soft for Dot to understand.

“He got another maid knocked up.  She’s furious. Absolutely spitting tacks.”

“Poor Alice,” she thought.  “How will she support a baby?  I thought she would stay and save her money.”

Dot considered her own pay, and how much went home to Mum and the little boys.  Alice wouldn’t be able to live on that very long, even if the Andrews had somehow kept her on until her baby arrived.

“He’s an idiot,” the housekeeper declared.  

_Alice had never mentioned her family.  Was she all alone? What would happen to her and the baby?_

“You would think that if he had to have a piece of tail on the side he’d be smart enough to keep her away from Mrs. Andrews.”

“Williams!” shouted the cook.  “I know you’re back there. The breakfast plate is ready.”

“Yes’m,” she mumbled, bringing out the tray, and holding it to accept the china plate with the toast, and the pot with the tea.

Step by careful step she carried it up to Mr. Andrew’s bedroom.  Her job and her pay depended on keeping Housekeeper and Cook happy.  Her letter of reference, if she left, would be from Mr. or Mrs. Andrews.  What if Mr. Andrews asked from her what he had asked from Alice?

She was very conscious of the tiny socks in her pocket.  Was this going to be her future?

 

Alice fumbled with the brown paper and the string.  Her suitcase was at her feet, on the gravel of the Andrews’ wide front driveway.

Dot held her breath, and felt the breeze tugging at her starched cap and lacy apron.

Alice peeled back the paper, then recoiled as if she’d seen a spider.

“You don’t understand!” Alice sobbed, and thrust the gift back into Dot’s hands.

Alice pulled her coat closer around herself, grabbed the suitcase. and walked to the waiting cab, her head hanging.

Dot clutched the crumpled paper, her mind a blank.  “Won’t a baby need socks?” she wondered.

_Was Alice going to have an abortion?  Didn’t her family and the church tell her that was wrong?_

 

The constable  (“Collins” she remembered) took her coat and held the chair for her, on one side of the shabby table, in the small room at the back of the police station.  Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Dot wondered what happened next.   _Am I in trouble?  Well, not Alice’s kind of trouble, not yet._

She swiped a finger across the crucifix hanging at her neck.   _Hail Mary, full of grace..._

It was a way to wait, and she lost track of how many times she had repeated the prayer before the door opened again.

The policeman in the suit sat down at the table, opposite her chair.  Constable Collins stood next to the closed door.

“Miss Dorothy Williams, I’m Detective Inspector Robinson.”  He opened a notebook, and took a pen out of his pocket. “Constable Collins and I are investigating the death of Mr. John Andrews.”

Dot took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.  “I want to help, sir.”

“Are you currently employed in the Anderson household?”  His voice was calm and even, and his eyes never left her face.

“Yes, sir.  Since this spring,”  she answered, which was immediately followed by another question, about her duties in the house, followed by questions about each step she took from when she put the crocheted trim on the booties up until she found Mr. Andrews’ lifeless body in the bath.

After an eternity of questions, the stern policeman closed the cap onto his pen and said “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Williams.  You are free to go.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, carefully.  There was dust along the top of the green wainscoting, and the floor needed sweeping, but she could not see herself staying here behind the door marked “Interview Room” for a moment longer than she had to.

“Collins,” continued the Inspector.  “Please take Miss Williams back to the Andrews residence.”  He slid his chair back and left the room.

Dot didn’t want to be there, either, but that was where her position was.

Collins helped her with her coat, and the packet fell from the pocket, the tiny booties spilling from the ripped paper.  Dot felt her cheeks burn. _What if he thinks I’m expecting?_ She hurriedly scooped them up and wadded the paper around them.

 

A tired-looking woman and a tiny child waited on the hard wooden bench, in the entry, under all the pictures of wanted criminals.  The boy leaned against the round shape of her stomach under her shabby dress. Dot wondered if there were more at home.

“Mrs. Hopman?”  called the constable behind the counter. “I’ll get your man in just a moment.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Ma’am”  said Dot, facing the woman and curtsying.  She reached into her pocket for the small socks and the crumpled paper.  “These are for your little one.”

She was out the door before Mrs. Hopman or the boy could reply.

 

**Hugh’s new Abbotsford scarf (from “Marked For Murder”)**

“Poor Hugh,”  mused Dot, as she lifted the scones gently out of the pan.  She imagined the stink of burning hair, how much filthy black smoke would come from an entire scarf?  “He didn’t seem to feel any better after the drama, either.”

“It is always sad when heros let us down,” observed Mr. Butler, who was counting things in the refrigerator and making a shopping list.

“Do you think I could persuade him to the West Melbourne camp?”  Dot slid the plate warm scones to the center of the kitchen table, out of the way.  She set the pan in the sink, and sat down at the table.

“Is he constant in his affections, Dotty?”  the gentleman closed the door behind him and set the list on the kitchen table.  “We don’t know what Miss Fisher and the Inspector will discover during the investigation.   Perhaps the young man will see things differently when everything is brought to light.”

“He has been an Abbotsford fan since he was very small.  I’m sad about the scarf, though.”

“You knit very nicely, Dot.  Perhaps you could be of some assistance when he decides?”

“The game is in days!”  Dorothy glanced at the calendar, and wondered how many rows she could knit between washing up in the evening, and saying her bedtime prayers.  “Do you think it would be alright if I made him a new one?”

“You would just have to decide which colors of wool to use.”  He smiled gently.

The back door opened, and the smell of cigarettes wafted in, followed by a cabbie.  “I can’t believe that idiot burned his scarf.”

“Mr. Johnson, are you referring to Constable Collins?” demanded Dot, rising to her feet.  

“I might be!  Is anyone else disloyal enough to even think about dropping his team?”  Bert fell into one of the chairs, and Mr. Butler set a cup in front of him.  “Thanks, Mr. B.”

“Hugh is honest, and loyal, and…”  Dotty placed a scone on the cabbie’s plate with some vigor.  “Why would you think that *I* would switch teams, but a man shouldn’t?”

“Women are fickle?” offered Bert, with some hesitation.  

Dot looked him in the eye.  She quickly snatched the scone from his plate and bit into it.

“Mr. Butler, I’d like to do the marketing today.  I believe that I will make a quick stop for some wool on the way.”

“Of course, Dot, I’d appreciate it.”  Mr. Butler offered her the list, and reached for the tin where he kept the housekeeping money.

Dot studiously avoided Bert’s gaze, and imagined Hugh in a new scarf, striped in green and the most beautiful red wool she could find.

 

**Pink Ski Hat (from Murder Under the Mistletoe)**

Dot sat curled in the comfortable armchair, next to the window in her bedroom at Miss Fisher’s.  The paper package held two balls of wool, and a paper leaflet.

The pattern said “Ski Hat with cables.”  Dot understood cables, it was the skiing bit that worried her.  The line drawing on the front was of a gloriously stylish flapper, looking slender and sporty in a Norfolk jacket and matching skirt.  There was a scarf, and some skis and ski poles, and the hat itself, with cables and a fluffy pom pom on top. Dot wasn’t sure about the “slim and stylish”, either, but she was confident that she could knit a hat in the four days before Miss Fisher’s “Christmas in July” trip.  

Any extra time would go for shopping, and some festive baking.  She felt sure that a few treats would be appreciated at City South, even if it was July, not really Christmas.

The beginning of the hat (“With white wool, cast on 124 stitches, K1 P1 around...”) seemed as simple as walking.  She hoped the skiing bit would work out that way as well. However, “...until you are 1” from the cast-on edge” worried her a bit.    There was going to be a lot of white wool left over. How big a pom pom could she make with the rest?

The rhythm of knit, flip the strand of wool to the front, purl, bring the wool to the back was hypnotic.  The mountains were going to be pretty. (Knit, wool to front) Dot had never seen a lot of snow in one place.  Miss Fisher said it was a long drive. (purl, wool to back) Dot had never been that far out from Melbourne. Hugh would still be in the city, working.  (Knit, wool to front) She was going to miss Hugh. (purl, wool to back) Still, Miss Fisher needed some calm and rest after that horrible business with the one nun selling charity girls.  Dot shuddered. (Knit, wool to front) Did Miss Fisher ski? ...Did Hugh know how to ski? (purl, wool to back) If he did, he could teach her how. (Knit, wool to front) She would probably fall in a snow drift. (purl, wool to back)  Hugh would have to come to the rescue and dig her out. (Knit, wool to front) They would end up cuddling in front of a fireplace, with cocoa (purl, wool to back) ...

 

**Paddy’s re-knit jumper (from “Blood and Money”)**

Dorothy stepped out of the kitchen to get better light and a breath of fresh air in the back garden.

She examined the large brown button-up jumper.  Poor Paddy had been practically swimming in it. _Would it be possible to unravel?_  The boy needed something warm for the cold, damp weather.  

She turned the cardigan inside out.   _Well, at least it hadn’t shrunk in the wash_.  Her fingers poked through a hole in the elbow.

“It doesn’t actually smell like it’s been washed for some time,” she muttered to herself.

“I believe Miss Fisher said the boy had been staying in a stable?”  offered a voice from behind her. Mr. Butler was always quiet on his feet.

“I think I can undo it and knit another one.”  Dot dug the end of a knitting needle into one corner and picked out the end of the wool where it had been worked into the stitches.

“Would you like me to bring you the wash tub when you are ready?” he offered.  “You could do the actual wash out here and hang it to dry in the garden."

“Yes, Mr. Butler.  I need to unravel it first.”  She pulled on the loose end, and the edge of the sweater was now a row of loops.  The yarn that came away was a zigzag, retaining the shape it had in the sweater. “Once it is dry it will be straight and won’t smell like the back end of a horse!”

“That’s going to to be a lot of knitting, Dot.”  

“I know.  I feel bad undoing his mother’s work, but he needs something he can wear properly.”

“I’m sure she will understand,” said Mr. Butler with assurance.

The two of them set up some of the heavy cast iron chairs so she could wind the yarn around the chair backs in a big loop.  It would be easier to manage in the wash water if it were a neat skein not an unruly snarl.

“What will happen to Paddy, and his brother, if … no… when Miss Fisher finds him?”

“I don’t know, Dorothy, but she always seems to find a way.  She won’t let them back on the street.”

Dotty walked around and around the chairs, holding the sweater in her hands and watching a dead woman’s knitting turn into a big ring of dirty brown wool.  She tied short lengths of the wool around the fuzzy loop to keep it from tangling.

Mr. Butler brought out the tub of hot, soapy water, then went back inside.

She lifted the skein off the chairs.  It was just dirty yarn now, and it was trying to pull itself into a jumper-sized tangle.

Dot plunged the wool into the soapy water, out of sight under the bubbles.

She sank down on one of the chairs and let the wool soak.  She cried for two orphan boys, and the mother who didn’t get to see them grow up.

 

**A baby jumper for the little Collins.**

Dot was tired.  The hospital gown was clean, the sheets were clean. The bassinet next to her bed was occupied.

Hugh was gently stroking the baby's wispy hair.  

“Do you think we should name him after my father?”

Dot had a list of baby names, stuffed in the back of one of her cookbooks, back at the flat.  The late Mr. Collin’s given name wasn’t on the list, but maybe that didn’t matter. “We could.  What is a good middle name to go with Zebadiah?”

 

“May I come in?”  The woman at the door looked familiar,  but the plain blue coat didn’t.

“What are you doing here?”  Hugh got to his feet, and moved to close the door.

“Its alright, Hugh.  Lola, I'm sorry I missed lunch.  Come in.”

“Nell.  I’m Nell now.  Again.” Her gloved hands gripped the handle of Dot’s knitting bag.

“Come see our baby.”   _Yes, pride is a sin, but isn’t he the most beautiful baby?_

Nell left the knitting bag on the end of the bed, and leaned over the bassinet.  “He looks like you, Constable. The three of you will be a perfect family.” She stepped back and sniffed a little.

Hugh was grinning again.

“We are trying,” said Dot, who wasn’t exactly sure what a perfect family was like.

“I’m proud of Dotty.  She’s been an absolute trouper about the whole thing.”  Hugh patted her hand.

Dotty did not understand how hours of intermittent screaming made her a “trouper.”  But that was over, and she had her own tiny baby boy, and wasn’t Hugh the cutest new father ever?

“I was at the cafe, waiting for you,”  said Dot, feeling awkward. “One of the waitresses noticed that I was making a pained face every 5 minutes.  She kindly explained to me that I was going into labor, and hustled me into a cab.”

“I know.  You left your knitting bag on the chair.”  Nell opened the bag. “After I got here, I didn’t have anything to do while I waited.  Sometimes knitting makes me feel better, so I finished the little jacket.” She pulled out the tiny, fluffy, pale blue cardigan, and put it in Dot’s hands.

“Nell!” She pulled her sister into a hug.  “I was so worried about not having this done!  Thank you!”


End file.
